


rainy night house

by legdabs (scvlly)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Tour Fic, i guess lol, uhhh idk what it is just soft n inspired by STORMS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scvlly/pseuds/legdabs
Summary: in the middle of their tour, dan and phil spend a night at home.





	rainy night house

**Author's Note:**

> insp. by phil's tweet and dan's instagram story, because i'm a storm gay.

Quiet.

That’s what it is.

A moment of peace, in this bustling city, in their hurried lives.

They’re home for a night, which means a rush to unpack and wash dirty laundry, to film, to water crispy plants and open a few windows, in the hope that the slightly stale air that sits undisturbed in every room might be replaced by something fresher, cleaner, but without the tinge of pollution. It’s a hope that’s almost entirely in vain in the heart of London, but they try anyway, because that’s just what they do.

Things slow down around dinner time, when Dan insists they cook, instead of ordering take-away, because he’s missed the way it feels to stand in the kitchen, _their_ kitchen, and feel entirely in control. But he finds it’s less important to him than ever, this need to feel as though he’s doing something good, something necessary; as is the old knowledge that cooking from scratch was one of the best ways of building his self-worth, because it’s just not true any more. He finds value in himself for who he is, in the people he surrounds himself with, in this _thing_ that he somehow gets to call a job, and the man beside him, damp-eyed from chopping onions, with whom he shares it all.

Somehow they have enough ingredients scattered between cupboards and their mostly-empty fridge to pull together a pomodoro sauce, and Dan stands at the hob, stirring the pot, as he sends Phil around the kitchen searching for a little more of this, and a little more of that.  

He doesn’t miss the control so much as he misses this: the quiet time spent hunting down ingredients and preparing them with Phil at his elbow; his right hand man in every sense of the phrase. He misses the smells that flood the kitchen and ground him, that unfailingly make him feel at home. He misses lifting the spoon to taste before offering it to Phil, and the discussion that follows on just what they should add to the sauce to make it _right_.

Phil boils up some pasta, and Dan sets the wooden spoon aside to let the sauce simmer. They move to run a sink of water, soaking the chopping board and knives they’ve used before Phil steps back to dry his hands and returns to wrap his arms around Dan’s stomach from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

“You good?” Phil asks softly, breath tickling Dan’s neck, and Dan answers with a nod and a satisfied sigh. He’s always good on days like this; days that are busy and a little rushed, that unfailingly fall into soft, slow evenings like these.

“Are you?” Dan shakes off his hands into the sink and turns in Phil’s arms, slouching so that he’s just a little shorter than the man wrapped around him.

Phil smiles down at him. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“That sounds like one of my lines,” Dan jokes, but his heart skips like it always does at Phil’s words, and he presses their lips together. It’s gentle, chaste, and for all intents and purposes, just a peck. But Phil’s lips are as soft and warm and comforting as ever for those few seconds, and besides - Dan honestly believes that nothing is ever ‘just’ anything between he and Phil.

Phil unwraps him from his arms, and nudges him away, back towards the hob.

“Go. Stir, love, or it’ll burn. I’ll wash this lot up.”

Dan frowns exaggeratedly, but wanders off anyway to stir the almost-done sauce, and check the pasta as it bubbles gently away.

 

* * *

 

They eat at the table instead of from trays on their laps, because Phil has lit some candles and dimmed the lights and poured them each a glass of wine, and sometimes, Dan thinks, it’s good to do something special from the comfort of their own home.

It’s nice, this peaceful coexistence of theirs; the way they can eat in a silence broken only by the sound of forks on porcelain, with the distance between them across the table bridged on occasion by the brush of their feet beneath it.

“You’ve got a little sauce on your chin,” Phil tells him with a wide smile after a sip of wine, gesturing vaguely to a spot that Dan manages to find with the back of his hand.

“All gone?” Dan checks.

“All gone.”

Dan likes nights like this because they’re weightless and liberating, though not in an empty way. There’s nothing to be gained, no end goal, no special occasion. In this moment, they just _are._ This is their life, their crazy life in which a candle-lit dinner is special, sure, but there’s no reason why it can’t be something everyday. Their love doesn’t waver or change dependant on anniversaries or accomplishments, and from that, Dan’s learnt to see what’s special in the everyday, to celebrate it all for what it is.

He scoops the last mouthful of pasta onto his fork, washes it down with some wine, and takes Phil’s free hand across the table. Phil raises an eyebrow, but squeezes his fingers against Dan’s in lieu of speech until he’s finished his mouthful. _It’s okay,_ Dan thinks, passing the seconds by losing himself in Phil’s eyes. _I can wait._

Phil inclines his head after a few moments, tapping Dan’s hand over his. “Okay?”

Dan just nods. “I love you.”

Smiling, Phil rolls his eyes and takes another forkful of pasta. He doesn’t move his hand away, though, and Dan knows exactly what the warm look he receives means when Phil meets his gaze again.

 

* * *

 

 

Nights like these can go one of two ways.

The first is the direction in which most, if not all, of their nights at home whilst on this tour have gone. After the rush to organise and plan, dinner is something calmer, before a few hours in front of the telly; maybe with a soak in the bath, or a shared shower. One thing leads to another, as things are wont to do, and they’ll fall into bed, into something slow and tender atop their sheets with a disgustingly high thread count, in a room of mirrors and soft, dimmed lights.

The second is rarer, but no less valued; a rarity that is the product of a mutual insatiable hunger for one another, even after all this time - or perhaps because of it. Nights like these don’t end with sweat-damp skin beneath the sheets, because nights like these never seem to end. It’s a strange quality, one that Dan thinks he’ll never understand - but he’s okay with that, with not knowing. Living in them, experiencing them, is enough.

Tonight is a night like this.

With the washing-up done and plates stacked away, Dan takes Phil’s hand and leads him to their bedroom, where the windows are still open, and the sunset is bathing their furniture in warmth.

Dan begins to unbutton his jeans, and Phil, beside him, raises an eyebrow. “Eager."

“Shut up,” Dan kicks him gently. “Don’t wanna have sex. Not tonight."

Dan ignores Phil’s mock-shocked face to tug his jeans off as quickly as he can, and, in an oversized black jumper, crawls onto their bed.

“C’mon,” Dan encourages from where he’s sat against their pillows, and it’s apparently all Phil needs to strip down to his boxers and join him. He settles himself along Dan’s side, with his head on his chest, and Dan’s arm resting over his.

Dan feels warm, but it’s not just from his own body heat, or from that of the body draped over his. No, this is something deeper, something more: a warmth that comes from belonging, from loving, from _being_ loved. It’s the warmth he feels when Phil’s hands catch in his hair and his fingers absently curl the strands; the warmth he feels when their eyes catch on-stage, hundreds of miles from London, and he wonders at how he’s there, in that moment, in front of so many people, with the only person he’s ever called home.

He looks down at Phil, at his black hair messily arranged around his head, and his hand that has found its way beneath Dan’s jumper, and is resting coolly against his stomach. Dan can’t see his face in its entirety, but he can see that his eyes are closed, and can just make out the way his nostrils flare a little with each deep, even breath.

Phil will probably fall asleep soon, Dan knows, but he himself won’t be able to. It’s okay, though - he’s not tired, not yet, and he doesn’t want to miss the sunset, the way it colours the sky with gradients of fire, and the way it now casts shards of golden light onto Phil’s pale skin. He looks beautiful in a way that Dan’s not used to, isn’t prepared for, and for some reason, it makes his heart ache. Dan wants to hold the moment, to tie it up with a bow and save it for later, kept safe in a box he’ll call ‘how Phil looks with golden skin (from the sun, not a tan)’, but he knows he can’t.

He tightens his arm around Phil, and the older man sighs contentedly; burrowing deeper into Dan’s jumper, and swinging a leg across his.

It’s okay, he realises, feeling Phil’s head rising and falling in time with his chest as he breathes. This moment, and living in it, is enough.

 

* * *

 

It’s dark by the time Phil wakes up, and, brought to consciousness by the feeling of him stirring on his chest, Dan realises he must’ve fallen asleep, too.

The windows are still open, and from outside comes the gentle sound of drizzle. The air smells the same way it always does in the rain: wholly indescribable, but fresh, as though the mass of concrete and brick outside has been rejuvenated into something natural and wild.

Phil shifts against him, curling his body in tighter at the same time as a bright flash lights the darkness, and a jagged pattern splits the sky. Dan jumps despite himself, and feels Phil’s laugh through his chest.

“Scared, Danny?”

“Shut up, you. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“Sure,” Phil teases gently, though his voice is still thick from sleep.

The next flash is brighter, and the sound of the rain grows louder, heavier. The trees outside of their window wave a little more animatedly, and Dan has a sudden urge to bury himself under the covers - not out of fear, but because he loves nothing more than to feel cosy when the weather outside is anything but.

“Can you pass my phone?” Phil asks, words muffled by Dan’s jumper, but Dan hears him clearly enough. He pats around on the bedside table until he finds it, and passes it down to Phil, who opens up Twitter.

“Gotta keep them updated, y’know?” He says, showing Dan a tweet about pigeons and storms, and after receiving an approving giggle, posts it. Phil drops his phone beside him and pulls himself up to rest against Dan’s sternum, and Dan takes the opportunity to wrap both arms around him tightly.

They watch the storm like that for a few long minutes: safe and warm and dry, together. The rumbles of thunder that Dan expects to be loud enough to make him jump are faint, if he even hears them at all. He doesn’t love storms like Phil does - he finds them too chaotic, too loud; especially when his own mind feels that way so often. He can appreciate them, though, for their dark beauty and crackling energy, for the sound of the rain they bring that calms him, for bringing Phil so much strange joy.

“Have you put anything on your story today?” Phil mumbles, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Maybe?” Dan’s not sure. “Why?”

“You should put the lightning on it.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. In case it stops.”

Dan laughs gently at Phil’s almost childlike eagerness, searching for his own phone on the table. Finding it, he opens Instagram, and sits up a little higher on the bed.

“You need to stay shushed, okay?” He tells Phil, and, feeling him nod against his chest, starts to film.

It’s only a few seconds of video, but it’s enough. He posts it, plugs his phone in to charge, and drops it to the floor; tugging Phil back into his arms to watch the storm for a little while longer.

“We should probably shut the windows before we sleep,” Dan says against the remnants of Phil’s quiff, making no move to get up.

“Probably,” Phil sounds equally unenthused. “If you do it, I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”

“You will? _You_?”

“Don’t try me, Howell. Go shut the windows.”

Dan raises an eyebrow, but forces himself from the bed. He pauses in the window for a few moments to take stock, to breathe in the damp air and watch the lightning dance. It’s good, he thinks, to have nights like this. Normal nights, together; nights where they can just _be._

He turns away from the window for a moment, looking back towards the bed, to Phil, who he can barely see in the darkness of the room until a stripe of lightning bathes him in temporary brightness.

Dan smiles as he turns back to shut the windows and pull down the blind. _Another mental image to file away._

“Should I post this?” Phil asks as Dan shrugs off his jumper and crawls back into bed, showing him a fifteen-second video of Dan from just moments ago, clearly wearing his oversized sweatshirt and nothing else, silhouetted against the flashes and glowing forks that mark the night. A few seconds from the end, he sees himself turn back towards Phil; the fond smile on his face illuminated by a particularly bright flash. It’s edgy and on-brand as hell, Dan thinks, but with the added softness of his clothes and that _look,_ and the fact that it was filmed by Phil. He's more than a little bit taken with the mood such a short video manages to capture, but he knows there’s no way they can post something like that. Not now. Not yet.

“You know you can’t,” Dan says gently, curving his body around Phil’s, and the older man sighs.

“Yeah, I know. Soon, though?”

“Soon.”

“Good.” Phil blinks at him, smiling; leaning in to rub Dan’s nose with his, and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night, Phil,” Dan smiles, holding Phil as tightly as he dares. “Sweet dreams, love.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> @legdabs on tumblr! 
> 
> title from joni mitchell's song
> 
> big thanks to grace and amber and jo for having a lil look through this for me to check i didn't make a big Mess, seeing as it's gone five am and i dunno who i am LOL


End file.
